


Matchmaker Matchmaker

by cellardoors_and_petrichor, Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Miscommunication, Ridiculous hijinks, background philtheo, romantic movies are not a good source of inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6694072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellardoors_and_petrichor/pseuds/cellardoors_and_petrichor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Frances and Philip tried to get their dads to date, and one time Alex and John took matters into their own hands</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker Matchmaker

**(1) Operation: Piece of Cake**

The classroom is almost empty when Philip Hamilton approaches Frances Laurens.

“Guh, they're doing it again. The bedroom eyes. It’s too much,” Philip declares, backpack slung over his shoulder. His hair's a mess and the beanie he shoved over it doesn’t help. He watches his father shift closer to John Laurens.

Frances Laurens sighs as she puts her pencil case away, looking out the window at their respective parents. “It's kind of sweet, you know.”

Philip puts his hand on Frances’ shoulder and looks her in the eye. “No, it's really not. If I have to listen to my pops talk about your dad’s hair one more time, I swear…”

Frances raises an unimpressed eyebrow along with the corners of her mouth. “It can't be half as bad as what my dad says about your pops’ smile.”

Philip shakes his head in recalcitrance. It’s an expression he wears a lot, if his detention record is to be believed. “They’ve been stuck like this forever. I can’t take it anymore. We have to fix it.”

Despite his flair for exaggeration and hyperbole, Philip has a point. John and Alexander have been close since college; there hasn’t been a time since either children have been alive that the two weren’t thick as thieves or making heart eyes.

Frances bites her lip as she decides whether meddling in her father’s love life is worth it. Frances nods her head decisively. “Agreed.”

-

At the Hamilton household, Philip finds his father sitting in his office, glasses perched on his nose and his fingers rubbing his temple to try to stave off the imminent headache. Philip brings his dad a glass of water and a snack. He leans against the edge of his father’s desk and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Yo pops. Mr. Laurens took his shirt off the other day, and it’s no wonder he’s a _physical_ therapist. He must go to the gym all the time. I heard he has an eight pack, John Laurens is shredded.”

Alexander replies without looking up from his work. “I have seen John with his shirt off before, Philip. It's definitely a six pack.” He then looks at his son seriously. “But let's talk about you. I know I've been really busy lately --”

Philip calmly interrupts, “You're literally always busy, pops.”

Hamilton looks a little guilty as he soldiers on. “Fair enough, but is there something you'd like to talk about?” He looks at his son expectantly.

Philip hesitates for a moment. This conversation isn’t meant to be about him. “No.”

His father pauses. “You know, when we were in college, Lafayette had this major crush on our professor at the time: George Washington.”

Philip shudders, “Euh!”

His father nods in agreement. “My thoughts exactly. I had to suffer through two years of watching and listening to Lafayette pine over him before he met Adrienne. That was quite frankly two years too many. I really have no interest in a repeat performance. So is there something you're not telling me?”

“No?” Philip half-asks with a furrowed brow, unsure and having the distinct feeling that the two of them are having different conversations.

Alex sighs, “I remember being your age, and I know that older men can be very attractive, but don't you think that maybe you should look at people more... age appropriate.”

Philip's mouth falls open. He's completely taken aback and frankly horrified. “No, oh my god, he's so _old_.”

“He's the same age as me,” Alexander points out.

“Exactly!” Philip shouts and leaves the room quickly, face red and hot. He pulls out his phone and starts dialing Frances right away. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. Instead he blurts, “My pops thinks I'm into your dad.”

 _“Ew, are you?”_ Frances scoffs over the phone.

Philip screeches. “No!”

 _“The indignation is really selling it,”_ Frances says sarcastically.

Philip sputters.

Frances continues speaking. _“I can fix this. I have an idea,”_ she says before hanging up the phone. Philip sequesters himself in his room until dinner and ignores the looks his father shoots him.

-

At the Laurens household, John and Frances sit down for dinner. It’s always quiet because it’s been just the two of them for as long as she can remember. Neither of them are particularly talkative, but it’s a comfortable silence.

She’s heard stories about her dad, about when he was younger. She knows he used to be volatile, angry and always itching for a fight -- usually with Mr. Hamilton at his side. That had evidently settled as they got older, under the necessary stress of being a single parent to a child that had inherited every bit of his fire.

She’s only ever brought up the topic of her mother once. He shot the conversation down vehemently. But after she feigned sleep, she watched her father drink heavily while Mr. Hamilton looked over at him and left his own beer untouched. She went to bed once Hamilton put his hand on John’s neck and rested their foreheads together, knowing she wasn’t meant to see something that intimate.

She just wants her father to be happy.

Frances twirls the same few pieces of pasta around her fork for the fourth time. “Dad?”

John tilts his head. He even puts his fork down. The strength of his full attention is a bit much. “Yes, Francie?”

Frances clears her throat. “I was talking to Philip today, and he told me they got the new Star Wars on Blu-Ray.”

“That’s exciting? I’m not sure what you’d like me to say,” her dad says with a thrown expression.

She pushes her food back and forth. “Well I know you like Star Wars, and I'm sure Mr. Hamilton and Philip would like to have us over."

John gives his daughter a smile. “Okay, I’ll call him after dinner.”

“Not this week, they’re with their mom, but maybe next weekend?” Philip spends every week alternating between his mom’s house and his dads. It’s been that way since he was nine, as long as Frances has known him.

“Sure, next weekend sounds great.”

Frances hides her grin behind another bite of pasta.

**(2) Operation: Buttered Popcorn**

It isn’t hard to orchestrate the perfect movie matchmaking scenario.

Philip and Frances lounge on the big sofa so that their fathers have to share the loveseat. When they make popcorn, they hand over just one bowl of popcorn to share. The kids trade secretive smiles when their fathers’ backs are turned.

They’re halfway through _The Force Awakens_ when out of the blue Alexander pauses the movie and asks the kids, “Do you want us to leave you two alone?”

They look at each other, confused.

“No, why would we?” Frances asks slowly.

Alexander sits next to an awkward John as he says, “You don’t have to worry. John and I know you two want to date. We’re okay with it.”

“What?!” Philip near screams at the same time that Frances’ mouth falls open.

“Each other?” Frances clarifies, gesturing between herself and Philip. The control of the night is slipping through their fingers.

“Well yes, we’ve seen you talking at school...” John starts to say before Alexander whacks his shoulder, more cognizant of the tension in the room.

Frances stands up first, just a bit too loudly declaring, “I’m a lesbian!” She covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide like she didn’t quite mean to say that, before running to the kitchen. John shares a look with Alexander before he follows after her.

It seems to be a night of confessions, so Philip tells his dad, “And I’m already dating Theo, dad.”

Alexander’s head whips around, “What did you just say?” He’s deathly calm as he leans forward in his seat.

This isn’t going well.

“I’m dating Theodosia,” Philip says defiantly. He crosses his arms and juts out his chin in the face of his father’s incredulous expression.

“Burr?” he asks unnecessary. There’s only the one Theodosia. Philip confirms with a nod.

Alexander shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I am not spending anymore time with him than I have to and neither are you. He’s not a good influence, Philip!”

Most parents would find Aaron Burr exemplary. His father finds him too dispassionate. Philip scoffs. He knows it grates on his father’s nerves. It’s like poking a lion with a stick.

“You’re such a hypocrite. You just don’t want me dating because --” Philip deflates as he thinks better of the words he was about to say. “Nevermind.”

Unsurprisingly, his father refuses to let it go. “Because why?”

Philip throws his hands up. “Because you’re too scared to!”

“Go to your room, Philip. We’ll talk about this later,” Alexander says.

Meanwhile, Frances runs into the Hamilton’s kitchen, on the verge of panic, to find Angelica Hamilton frozen with a glass of water halfway to her lips. Philip’s sister gives her a sympathetic look.

“Uh, I’m sorry. Did you hear that?” Frances says wringing her hands, fixed in place.

“Kind of hard not to,” Angelica says sheepishly. As she hears John’s footsteps down the hall, she says, “I’m gonna go, but you should know: you’re not alone.”

As she makes her exit, Angelica gives her a wink and brushes her fingers against Frances’. She doesn’t even have time to begin processing that before her father catches up to her, looking at a loss.

“Hey sweetie.”

Frances awkwardly shifts her weight between her two feet. In a small voice she says, “Hi.”

John walks over and envelopes his daughter in a hug, holding her tight. They stand like that for a few moments, until Frances feels a little surer. John kisses the side of her head.

“Do you want to leave?” he asks her. Frances nods her head.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. That was very brave of you. Now, do you want to get pizza for dinner?”

**(3) Operation: Cotton Candy**

“What else is romantic?” Frances sits down beside Philip in a huff in the school cafeteria, thoroughly done with the world. Coming out to her father was great, but he’s started asking her detailed questions about if she wants a girlfriend, if there were any cute girls at school…

Frances doesn’t know how to say: _I’m supposed to be talking about your love life, not mine._

Doesn’t know how to say: _I don’t want to talk about it yet._

“Why are you asking me?” Philip gives her a sideways look, in between devouring the multitude of sandwiches his father packed him for lunch. Frances wonders, not the first time, how the Hamiltons have time to feed so many children.

“You’re dating someone aren’t you? What do you and Theo do?”

Philip snorts. “Mostly? Hide from our dads.”

Frances rolls her eyes. “Ok. Aside from that. And aside from _that_!” she adds, as Philip waggles his eyes suggestively.

“Uh, we were going to go to the fair?”

“The fair?”

“Yeah, the fall carnival is only open for another few weeks so we were going to go.”

Frances considers it. Carnival. That seems romantic. It conjures up images of feeding your date cotton candy, riding the ferris wheel together, and trying to win her a giant teddy bear.

“Alright,” She nods. “You tell your dad you want to go to the fair next weekend. I’ll tell mine the same thing. We meet up there, ok?”

“Got it,” Philip nods too, and goes back to attacking his food with renewed vigor.

It… doesn’t go that well. Five days later they’re at the fair, and she’s watching Hamilton and her father throw darts at balloons.

“You cheated!” Hamilton shouts, puffing up as much as he can (Which still doesn’t make him as tall as her father, not by a long shot).

John just laughs. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.”

“John Laurens you can--” He looks back over his shoulder at the kids “-- shut your mouth. Best six out of ten.”

“You’re on. Loser buys the snowcones.” And another plushie is tossed into the growing pile at Philip and Frances’ feet, another $5 is thrown on the table, and another round of darts begins.

Frances sighs, wondering how much longer they’re going to have to stand there before their dads got a clue. Her feet are starting to hurt.

Evidently Philip was feeling the same. “Do you want to check out the rollercoasters?” He asks in a bored voice.

There’s a pause, and then her father turns around to look at them. “Rollercoasters?” He asks.

“Oh no,” Frances groans.

Her father _loves_ all kinds of thrill rides, will cheerfully get into a plastic ball and allow himself to be launched into the sky on a bungee cord without a second thought.

Frances had taken one look at the contraption and had many second thoughts. Most of them calculating velocity, tension, and how painful it would be if/when the rope snaps and they hurtle to the ground.

So Frances doesn’t like thrill rides. She won’t get in them, not even the moderately tame roller coasters at the fair. Philip does though, and a grinning Alexander who had declared himself the winner of the carnival games.

“It’s not fair,” Her father huffs as they get in. “You cheated.”

“You can’t cheat at carnival games!” Alexander shoots back, pulling down the shoulder harness. Frances makes a face. _Never go on rides with shoulder harnesses_. It usually means you are at risk of being upside down.

“You distracted me with roller coasters!”

“Ready?” The ride operator asks. Philip, Alexander, and her father all cheer with the rest of the passengers and the ride starts to move. Up… Up… Up… Just as they reach the top she hears Alexander start screaming.

If nothing else though, roller coasters are short. It’s only a few short minutes until she has them all back down. Her father, as always, is grinning like a maniac. Philip has his head below his knees. Both of them are gently patting Alexander, who has been shaking like a leaf since he got down.

“Pops?” Philip asks uncertainly.

Hamilton’s only reply is to throw up.

“Damn, that's not good. Alex? Alex stay with me here,” Her father frowns, rubbing slow circles on his back. That would have been very romantic, if not for the way Hamilton keeps heaving. She fetches their water bottles and glares in Philip’s general direction as her father helps Hamilton wash out his mouth.

“Maybe no more roller coasters,” Hamilton suggests weakly.

Her father throws an arm around his shoulders. “Just for you Alex. How about the Ferris Wheel?”

“Well, it’s not a total loss,” Frances remarks to Philip, once she’s seated beside him in a little carriage that is rapidly rising in a circular fashion.

“Hm?” He’s trying to see how far up they are.

She nudges him. “Look”

In the carriage before them, Hamilton is resting his head on her father’s shoulder. Her father’s arm is around him, and he’s leaning in as well. If she didn’t know better, she wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from any other couple.

“Well,” Philip says, then nods enthusiastically. “That’s something,”

**(4) Operation: Let It Snow**

Philip peers over France’s shoulder, midway through computer science class. “....are you looking for ideas online?”

“Hush.” Frances shoots back, quickly exiting her browser. Some kind of romantic movie. “Considering your ideas are god-awful--”

“It worked with Theo, I don’t know why our dads couldn’t behave.”

“Because they’re competitive children, that’s why.” Frances tells him serenely.

Philip scowls. Just because it was true didn’t mean it wasn’t wrecking their plans.

“You know how it’s supposed to snow tomorrow?” Frances asks him.

He groans. “Yes. Already.”

“Well, we can try and get them snowed in together,” She grinned. “It’s supposed to snow a lot after all.”

“When did that ever work?”

“It worked in, like, at least five movies. Shut up!” Philip tries vainly to stifle his laughter. She hits him. “You have exactly zero ideas, man. So invite us over for dinner tomorrow night.”

He does, casually informing his father that he’s invited the Laurens over for supper. Angie suggests they make linguine, which is apparently Frances’ favourite, and his dad agrees. Then it’s just a matter of ‘accidentally’ dropping a full bottle of Pepsi on the spare bed, putting all the candles in easy reach, and waiting.

Frances and John arrive in a flurry of hellos, Frances disappearing immediately to do something-or-other with his sister. Philip grabs a book, settles down at the dinner table, and starts to eavesdrop as his father finishes up the supper.

“I brought a bottle of wine,” Laurens says, and there’s a clink of glasses.

“You shouldn’t have John,” His pops replies warming. “But thank you.” A pause. “This is very nice, John, I can’t--”

“I wanted to,” Laurens interrupts. “I think we’ve grown out of Sam Adams, haven’t we? I can buy a nice bottle of wine for someone I care about.”

“Oh god,” His father groans. Philip has heard some of the stories that feature Sam Adams. By and large, they all feature a number of stupid decisions (And at least one features a night in jail). “Don’t remind me. We were so stupid back then.”

“Yeah,” Laurens’ voice has gone soft, tender. “But it was fun. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Philip is wondering if he should leave, scamper out before he has to listen to them kiss or something, when his dad yells “Angie! AJ! Philip! Dinner!”

“Frances!” Laurens calls. The children all scramble in. Philip nudges AJ, trying to look casual.

Their youngest brother looks up at his father with large eyes. “Dad is it ok if we eat in our room please? We were watching a movie.”

Frances pipes up too. “Yeah Dad, Disney films wait for no man.”

“And we always have dinner together. Just for the one night? Frances is over too,” Philip adds, trying not to lay it on too thick.

Thankfully, pops grins, “Alright you guys. Grab your plates and don’t make a mess! John and I will be fine on our own.”

They grab their plates, ducking into the spare room where the television plays. AJ holds out his hand expectantly. Philip hands him a $20.

“Thanks bro. Enjoy your crazy plan,” And with that AJ pulls out a book, settling into the corner to eat.

Ten minutes creep by. Ariel just wants to be part of their world. “Alright,” Philip says, pulling out a pair of wire cutters. Angie is grinning. AJ just sighs and pulls out a flashlight. “Time for the next part.”

It is far easier to make something stop than to make something start. Like electricity. All he had to do was google how an electricity box worked, do some scouting when no one was looking, and buy a cheap pair of wire cutters. Then it was only a matter of identifying the right wire and slicing it, sending their apartment building into blackness.

He slips back inside just as his pops and Laurens are lighting the candles.  
“-- I didn’t even know we had these, must have been left over from something Angie was doing.”

“Well I’m glad we can see at least. Didn’t think the storm was going to get this bad.”

“Maybe you and Frances should stay the night?” His dad says, and Philip does a little fist pump in the dark before he ducks into the spare room.

“They totally bought it!”

“Good!” Frances crows. “And the spare bed is wrecked--”

“--And you’ll be sleeping on the couch so pops and Laurens will have to share. It’s perfect.” He nodded. “That will have to work.”

Only when he gets up in the middle of the night to pee, tiptoeing past Frances’ sleeping form on the couch, he sees a light on in his dad’s study.

“Pops?”

“Go back to bed Philip,” His father, sleep-rumbled and smiling, is sitting at the computer. Not in the bed in which Philip has so kindly delivered his soulmate.

Why did they have to be so _frustrating_?

“Is everything ok pops?” He asks, just to be sure.

“Oh, yes!” His dad gestures to the screen, “I was just finishing up some work for Washington. I had a thought or two I had to get down.”

“Won’t Mr. Laurens get lonely though?” Philip asks plaintively.

“John?” He laughs. “John could sleep through a hurricane. As long as I’m there by the time he drags himself out of bed, he won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Oh. Ok,” Philip turns to go, and then thinks better of it. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitates, trying not to hold his breath, “Are you really upset that I’m dating Theo?”

“No son, I just wish your girlfriend had better taste in parents.”

“Then I can bring her around maybe? For dinner?”

“Philip,” His dad looks him right in the eye, “I would be delighted. I won’t even make fun of Burr.”

Philip swallows hard, “Wow, ok pops. Thank you,” And he closes the door behind him, tiptoeing back to bed. Maybe the night isn’t a loss after all.

**(5) Operation: Last Ditch**

“If this doesn’t work,” Frances growls, “I give up. They’re impossible.”

Philip frowns, “They’re not impossible. Just…”

“Impossible.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Get it ready, I’ll get them,” Frances sniffs, already out the door before Philip can reply. It’s not fair - it’s not his fault their fathers are impossible. She stomps over to the front garden, where her father and Hamilton are sharing a beer.

“Dad?”

“Yes Frances?”

She bites her lip, trying to look innocent, “I can’t find the lint roller.”

“Did you look in the closet?” Her father asks, not even looking back at her.

Anger flashes. “Of course I looked in the freaking closet,” Frances spits back at him.

Philip is much better at this sort of thing, she decides.

“Alright, let me check the freaking closet for you,” Her father gets up, pushing past her and over to their large linen closet. “But Frances, don’t use language like that in front of guests. If Philip picks up any more bad words Alex won’t be happy with us…” He rummages around the shelf “I don’t see it… could have sworn it was here.”

She creeps back outside. “Mr. Hamilton?”

“Yes darling?” He asks.

“I think my dad needs help, he’s gotten all mixed up…”

Thankfully, Hamilton laughs, “That would be John,” And he bounds over, just about crashing into her father’s back. “Move over old man.”

“Who are you calling old?”

“Clearly your eyes are going bad -- hey!” Hamilton just has time to call out before the door slams shut behind him.

“Oops,” Philip grins. He’s got a lint roller in his hand.

Hopefully this will work. Even if they start fighting, there’s only so much they can argue about in the closet. And then they’ll fall silent, then talk about their feelings. And then, having come to their senses, the door will open and they’ll both be allowed out of the closet.

 _Out of the closet_ , Frances thinks, and giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Philip asks her.

“Oh nothing, just… They’re in the closet.”

“Oh.” He frowns, then nods. “I guess they are.”

“Do you think they’re ready to confess their love?” Frances asks. Philip raises an eyebrow, which she ignores in favour of pressing an ear against the door.

They’re not confessing their love. They’re not even fighting. The voices are in fact quickly rising in panic.

_“Why do you even have that cleaner?”_

_“I don’t know!”_

_“Bleach, John, that’s bleach! Have you ever cleaned your own house?”_

_“Yes! In fact--”_

_“And you didn't you know better than to store it beside the ammonia in case you knock them over?”_

_“That’s not a--”_

_“Windex is ammonia. You’ve made chlorine gas.”_

There was a long pause. Philip and Frances, on their side of the door, exchange horrified looks. She doesn’t quite know what to say.

 _“Children?”_ Hamilton’s voice breaks her out of it, _“Children are you there? We appear to be in a bit of a predicament. A key would be nice.”_

They could always lock their dads in somewhere else, she wants them _alive_ enough to get there. “Where’s the key?” She hisses at Philip.

He looks horror struck, “I thought you had the key!”

“I gave it to you! And said: here, keep the key.”

“I don’t remember--”

_“We are being poisoned here!”_

Right. Poison gas.

“We’re looking!” Frances calls towards the closet door, scrambling around to try and find the key. “Just… hold your breath!”

 _“Hold our--”_ her father begins, and follows it up with a word that he certainly doesn’t allow at the dinner table.

 _“Philip?”_ Hamilton calls.

“Pops?”

There is a heavy sigh on the other side of the door, followed by a cough. _“Just get the lock.”_

His eyes light up, “Wait, really?”

_“We are being suffocated here.”_

“I got you, Pops.” And Frances turns to watch her friend drop to his knees and begin fiddling with the lock. A moment later it clicks open.

“Thank god,” Her father pants, rushing over to take several gulps of air from the window. Hamilton joins him, looking green. Philip just grins smugly.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?” She asks him, curious.

“Pops,” He grins, “I used to pick bike locks, move them, chain them up again. Then mom made me promise not to pick anymore, but dad nearly dying does count, right?”

“I think so,” Frances nods sagely. “Just don’t tell her.” She hesitates for a second. “Will you teach me? I’d hate for the day to be a total waste.”

“It’s not a waste,” Philip frowns at her. “Surviving near death experiences is supposed to be very romantic. And we learned how to make chlorine gas with household cleaners, so.”

**(+1) Mission: Impossible**

“It’s hopeless. They’re hopeless!” Philip says, throwing his hands in the air as he paces his living room.

Every single one of their plans have failed. Maybe it was pointless to have even tried in the first place. Their fathers are so stubborn. At least they know where they get it from.

Frances watches him walk back and forth from the couch. She sighs and picks at a loose thread on her sweater. “As much as I would like to believe otherwise, I think I agree.”

Philip stops. “Want to drown your sorrows in soda?” he offers. Frances lights up.

“Yes, oh my god, do you have Mountain Dew? I'm so tired,” Frances replies as they make their way to the kitchen.

Philip stops walking so abruptly that the two of them almost collide. Very quietly, he says, “what” It’s almost not even a question, just a statement that he doesn’t quite understand what he’s looking at.

Frances shoves his shoulder, trying to move him out of the way until she sees what’s happening.

Their parents are making out. Alexander is sitting on the granite countertop, John standing in the cradle of his hips. John’s hands are tightly holding Alexander against him. Hamilton knocks over the sugar bowl as he wraps his arms around John’s neck.

Frances clears her throat and the two men stop kissing but don’t otherwise break apart.

Hamilton runs a hand through his hair, only succeeding in messing it up more. He has a dopey expression as he enthusiastically says, “Hey kids!”

Frances isn’t sure whether to be happy or frustrated about the whole thing. On the one hand, their parents are together. On the other hand, they spent months failing to accomplish this.

Philip tries speaking again. “What?”

John looks mortified, his face flushed. He rests his head on an entirely unrepentant Alexander’s shoulder. “Oh my god,” he says, muffled, as though regretting all of his life choices.

Alexander beams as he takes a picture of their children's expressions with his free hand, while the other rubs John’s neck.

“Since when?” Philip demands.

“Since your brother broke his ankle and had to get all that physical therapy.”

Philip looks close to the side of indignant where he’ll stomp his foot and strop off. “That was a year ago!”

Alexander huffs. “You know, I'm kind of disappointed. Now that you two know about this, where am I supposed to get all my entertainment? Wait, John, what if --”

John shakes his head vehemently. “No. I don’t know what it is, but no. If it’s anything like your ideas in college, I’m too old for it.”

“Pah. You’re no fun. You know, you're forty-one, not dead,” Alexander says with a pout. John scowls and tickles him.

Philip fake gags. “We may have made a slight miscalculation. They’re worse like this. Let’s go; I can’t look at them anymore.”

Alexander looks serious for a moment as he laces his fingers with John’s. “Wait, Philip. Don’t tell your brother and sister yet. We were planning on a family dinner this weekend. An actual one where we sit down together and talk. About feelings and stuff.”

Philip shrugs his shoulders as he grabs the soda out of the fridge. “Sure thing, pops. Though I’m pretty sure everyone in the tri-state area already thinks you’re dating.”

“You’re okay with this, right?” John says to his daughter.

“Yeah, Dad. You know how much I love _The Brady Bunch_ ,” she says with a wink.

Philip rolls his eyes. “Sure, Jan.”

Frances smiles sweetly in the way that you know she never means it. “You know, I never wanted a _younger_ brother.”

“That’s it. Let me introduce you to the best thing about having a brother: wet willies.” Philip waggles his fingers in her direction.

Frances screeches as she runs away from Philip. In their wake, the only noise in the kitchen is the hum of the refrigerator. John gently kisses his boyfriend. Hamilton sighs into his mouth.

“We’ll be okay, right?” John asks.

Alexander kisses the side of his head. “I think we’ll be just fine.”


End file.
